Your Scent
by F.D. Tamms
Summary: Mrs. Lovett forces Mr. Todd to take a bath. Set shortly after Mr. Todd returns to London before he's killed anyone . It's a little OOC. Rated because...well...better safe than sorry.
1. Chapter 1

**When I was watching Sweeney Todd recently I noticed that Mrs. Lovett sniffs Mr. Todd's hair as they're singing their duet during "My Friends". My imagination was sparked and this story was born.**

**It's a little OOC. Everyone should be used to me saying that by now.**

She knew that he had been in Australia for fifteen years and that it had been treacherous, terrible, and horrible.

She knew that, after escaping from Australia, he had been at sea for quite awhile.

She knew that he thought of himself as dead.

But she couldn't handle it any longer.

* * *

"Mr. T?" She said tentatively.

He was staring out the window listlessly, his right hand gripping one of his razors. He looked at her for a moment before returning to his staring.

"What?" He asked grumpily.

Mrs. Lovett was nervous about mentioning it him, but she knew it had to be done.

"Mr.T…I know it's only been a few days…and I know that you don't think it's necessary…but I think you should…er…well…"

He stared at her, his eyebrows raised. "You think I should…what?" He didn't sound as though he cared what she thought.

Mrs. Lovett swallowed. "I think you should take a bath," she said quickly.

He blinked.

After several moments, he spoke. "What?" He asked, his voice confused. Clearly he had been expecting her to say something else.

"A bath." Mrs. Lovett repeated. "Mr. T, if you don't mind me saying—"

"But I do mind you saying—" He interrupted.

"—you don't smell too pleasant." She finished. "And frankly, you won't get too many customers if you don't smell good."

He frowned at her. "No," he snarled. Mrs. Lovett rolled her eyes.

"Mr. T, it's for your own good."

He laughed harshly. "Are you trying to tell me that…perfuming myself is good for my health?"

She pulled out her secret weapon. "The Judge is used to the highest level of pampering…" she saw his face tighten. "if you smell bad, he won't come anywhere near you and…" she shrugged meaningfully, "you won't get your revenge."

He grimaced.

She had him.


	2. Chapter 2

**I have absolutely no idea what soap was like in 19****th**** century London. It probably wasn't scented or labeled.**

"Mrs. Lovett…don't you have any soap that doesn't smell like flowers?"

Mrs. Lovett and Sweeney Todd were squeezed into Mrs. Lovett's tiny bathroom. Her bathtub was already filled with water for his bath.

Sweeney Todd was examining Mrs. Lovett's wide range of scented soaps with distaste. He had agreed to take the bath, but that didn't mean he had agreed to smelling like lilies for a week.

Mrs. Lovett shook her head. "These were wedding presents for me," she said, shrugging. "Albert didn't like soap. He bathed, but soaps were above him."

Todd gagged as the mental image of Albert Lovett bathing entered his brain.

"Well…" he mumbled grumpily, "is there any soap that doesn't smell nearly as feminine as—" he read the label on the bar he was currently holding "'lilies of the valley'? Or—" he picked up another bar "'rosewater?' Because if this bath will leave me smelling like a woman, I won't take it."

Mrs. Lovett frowned at him, hands on her hips. "You have to take the bath," she said.

He rolled his eyes. Mrs. Lovett looked at her soaps and saw one that was white. She picked it up and read the label. "_London's Finest Ivory Soap_", it said. She sniffed it. It smelled like cleanliness, which was exactly what she had been going for. "Here," she said, handing him the soap. "There's hardly any smell at all."

He took the soap and sniffed it. When his expression didn't change, Mrs. Lovett assumed he was pleased (perhaps not pleased, but satisfied) with its scent (or rather its lack of scent).

He suddenly began removing his clothes. Mrs. Lovett's cheeks reddened. "Mr. T!" She squeaked. "What're you doing?!"

He had removed his necktie and had started unbuttoning his shirt. "Undressing," he said matter-of-factly.

She watched, transfixed, as his fingers worked at the buttons of his collar. She could see thin white scars—from Australia, she assumed—crisscrossing his collarbone.

She forced herself to look elsewhere.

"I'll be going, then!" she cried, much too quickly. She was out the door and breathing heavily in her bedroom before he had time to reply.


	3. Chapter 3

**When I was writing this chapter I was tempted to give Mrs. Lovett an enormous, Yamato Nadeshiko Shichihenge sort of nosebleed, but I decided against it.**

Mrs. Lovett was flustered_. I'm being ridiculous,_ she thought. _I saw part of his bare chest—no, not even part of it. I caught a glimpse of his bare chest and I nearly lost my mind. _

She was in her bedroom, buried underneath her quilts and sheets. She knew she was being silly. She'd seen bare-chested men before.

Then again, those men were not Sweeney Todd.

Of course, she hadn't seen Sweeney Todd bare-chested. She shuddered to think how she would behave if he …no, she didn't want to think about that.

She could rationalize her flusteredness by saying that she was caught off guard by a man suddenly undressing around her, but in her heart Mrs. Lovett knew that she had just felt a pang of lust when she had glimpsed Sweeney Todd's collarbone.

His collarbone for God's sake.

She buried her head deeper into her bed to hide her shame.

If Mrs. Lovett was being completely honest with herself, she would admit that the entire reason she had forced Mr. Todd to take the bath in the first place was the slightest hope that she would see…something. She actually thought he smelled nice. Well, not nice. He smelled terrible. But it was HIM. It was HIS scent. She didn't care what he smelled like so long as he was around. But she was never going to admit that. She was a lady, after all.

* * *

When she heard the knock on her door Mrs. Lovett was certain that she had been lying in bed for hours. She knew it could only be Sweeney Todd, and so she made sure she was completely composed before she opened the door.

He was standing there and looking much cleaner than he had before, all except for his hair, which was still in wild disarray and sticking out at odd angles. "I'm finished," he said, his face surly.

Mrs. Lovett breathed normally. She was fine. "I can see that," she said. "Do you need something?"

He shrugged. "The bathroom's a bit of a mess," he said. "There's some water on the floor."

Mrs. Lovett smiled. If she was going to be honest, that did annoy her. But she was so pleased that she hadn't gone into a fit at the sight of him that she wasn't fazed. "Well," she sighed, "I'd better get to that, then."

He nodded curtly before turning to head upstairs. As he turned she saw that his hair wasn't wet. She groaned. That was what had smelled the worst. "Mr. T?" she asked, fearing for her life. "Did you wash your hair?"

He froze in his tracks. "What?" he asked. She knew that he had heard her. "I said, 'did you wash your hair?'"

He made a grumbling noise and she crossed her arms. She was feeling empowered now. "You didn't, then?"

He turned to glare at her. "No," he mumbled. "I didn't."

**Perhaps some of you can tell where this is going…?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry I'm not updating more regularly!**

**This chapter is so, so silly. I feel ridiculous. Mr. Todd would murder me if he knew how much I misrepresent him.**

"AGH!" He cried as she yanked the wide toothed comb through his hair.

"Mr. T, stop being such a baby!" Mrs. Lovett said, though she knew that she had pulled quite hard that time. They had been at the extremely difficult task of combing Mr. Todd's hair for nearly twenty minutes, and she had only managed to get a few of the snarls and tangles out of it. She was somewhat enjoying the experience, though—she had always wanted to push her fingers through his hair, and this was the perfect excuse for doing so.

"Remind me again why you're torturing me?" He asked slowly. Mrs. Lovett sighed. She pushed the comb through his hair again. "Because—" he grunted in pain; she ignored him—"it'll be incredibly difficult to wash your hair properly if it isn't combed."

He sighed angrily. Mrs. Lovett studied her work in amusement. The trauma of having been brushed had left Mr. Todd's hair sticking up in all directions (or even more so than before). She knew that he wasn't going to let her wash his hair if she kept hurting him. She decided it was time, though it really wasn't. "Okay, I'm done," she said.

He turned to glare at her. The wildness of his hair and the seriousness of his expression left her giggling madly. "Stop that," he said, regarding her laughter. She stopped, with some difficulty.

"This won't take long, will it?" He asked. Mrs. Lovett shrugged. "Your hair's a disaster. It could take a while. Why," she asked, amused. "got somewhere to be?"

He sulkily turned around and she burst into a fit of silent laughter. She had chosen a shampoo that smelled fairly neutral, but hadn't asked his opinion on whether or not she should use it on him. She didn't want another scent drama on her hands.

She had filled two buckets with water—one for sudsing, one for rinsing—and had placed them next to the stool where he was sitting.

As she rolled her sleeves up, a smile spread across her face.

She took hold of a bucket and poured just a drop or two of water on his hair. It left hardly a mark, so she poured more. That did the trick.

He shivered as the water ran down his neck.

She was very excited. She began to work the shampoo into his hair, and she relished the feeling of him beneath her hands. Of course, she didn't want to be touching his head…

A blush crept over her cheeks at the very thought. Mr. Todd moaned slightly as her fingers caught a snarl in his hair. The noise brought her back to her senses. "Sorry, love," she said, not sounding sorry at all. She thought about her reaction from his collarbone earlier and had to remind herself that she was not to get aroused, or she would do something stupid.

When the shampoo was thoroughly administered to his hair, she took hold of the bucket and prepared to rinse it out. "Mrs. Lovett?"

He interrupted her as she was prepared to pour the water over his head. "Yes, Mr. T?" She asked. She was anxious to feel her fingers in his hair again.

"About earlier…"

Mrs. Lovett was certain of what he was going to say before it even came out of his mouth. She was so flustered that she tipped the bucket…but she tipped it too far, and all the water splashed over Mr. Todd.

He leapt up as soon as the water struck him, but it was too late—he was soaked. The water seeped into his shirt, and, to Mrs. Lovett's horror, showed his well-defined chest quite clearly. Her cheeks flamed red, and she clapped her hands to her mouth. And yet somehow, she couldn't tear her eyes away.

He looked furious (or, more so than usual). "What the hell was that about?!" He shrieked indignantly.

For once, Mrs. Lovett had nothing to say.

He spoke for her.

She felt the cool metal hit her head, felt the wet streaming down her face, and then saw nothing but blackness.

**Ooh…what's gonna happen now?**

**I have no idea whether or not shampoo existed in Victorian London, so I'm sorry if this is inaccurate.**


	5. Chapter 5

**More silliness (but this chapter is less silly in comparison with the last chapter. It's still silly, though).**

He'd put the goddamn bucket over her head. The one that was still full. The one that she had used to start shampooing his hair.

A whole bucket of water.

Mrs. Lovett swore like a sailor in her frustration. She struggled to get the bucket off over her head, but it was difficult. "MR. T!" She cried, her voice echoing in the bucket.

He didn't respond.

She struggled with the bucket for several minutes before managing to get it off. She studied his handiwork and her own—the floor was soaked. She looked down and was horribly embarrassed to see that her body was extremely accentuated from the soaking—the water had caused her dress to sag, and her breasts practically rolled out of her dress. Her skirts clung to her hips. She was sure that her hair was even more deranged than usual. The thought wasn't pleasant.

Where had he gone? Back to the barbershop, she imagined.

A smile spread across her face as she developed a plot for revenge.

* * *

Sweeney Todd was very, very wet. And annoyed. And angry.

He was annoyed because he was very, very wet. He couldn't believe what a klutz Mrs. Lovett was. He had only meant to apologize for being so rude to her earlier—something very out or character for him. But, if he were to be honest, he had been planning on taking a bath, and Mrs. Lovett's request (and her allowing him to use her bathtub) was (somewhat) appreciated. Now he was just irritated, for he hadn't the slightest idea why she had reacted to his speaking in such a way.

The anger was mostly due to the fact that he had just glimpsed Mrs. Lovett's body—her wet, **wet** body—as she wriggled and struggled and squirmed underneath the bucket, and he had felt a pang—yes, a pang—of lust.

She had a very appealing figure (this realization was also part of why he was angry). As he headed up the stairs to the barbershop, dripping on the steps, he chastised himself for being attracted to her.

And God was he attracted to her.

He felt as though he were being unfaithful to Lucy—but, he thought, that was silly, seeing as Lucy was dead, and he hadn't seen her in 15 years.

He chastised himself for rationalizing.

He felt like a dirty pervert—felt like he was the judge.

Once in the barbershop, he didn't know what to do—there weren't any towels, so he couldn't dry off.

And goddammit, he couldn't get the image of Mrs. Lovett out of his mind.

He decided to change quickly, as he wasn't sure whether or not Mrs. Lovett would appear soon or not.

When he was finished changing, he sat in his chair trying (and failing) to force the image of Mrs. Lovett out of his mind.

He failed miserably.

After all, he never forgot.

* * *

Mrs. Lovett hiked her skirt up around her thighs. She had done her best to make her dress less revealing, but to no avail. Her hair was beyond hope.

She'd filled another bucket with water for her revenge. She had a plan—a plan that could get her killed (she wasn't quite sure why it was she was being so brave—perhaps she thought he wouldn't hurt her). But, she thought, it was just some good natured fun, and good natured fun never hurt anyone.

**This was pretty funny—when I typed "goddammit", the spell check thing said, "do you mean "goldsmith"?"**

**Yeah, why would I mean goldsmith…?**


	6. Chapter 6

**THIS CHAPTER IS RIDICULOUSLY SILLY. And very OOC, even a bit OOC for Mrs. Lovett, which I don't think has ever happened to me before.**

**Sorry. In this story, the characters are writing themselves.**

Mrs. Lovett cursed the cold that greeted her as she stepped out on to the street in her soaking dress. She prayed she wouldn't catch a cold. The bucket of water was heavy; she held onto it tightly, with both hands, to keep from dropping it.

She hoped that the few people walking about on Fleet Street wouldn't see her, as she wasn't quite decent and the steps up to the barbershop were illuminated from the street lights.

Then again, she didn't really care what other people thought.

* * *

He massaged his temples, trying to force the image of Mrs. Lovett out of his mind.. She irritated him, made him want to scream. Her face invaded his subconscious no matter how hard he tried to force it out.

He needed to touch her.

He hated himself for thinking that, but it was true. He needed to touch her, even if it was only for a second.

* * *

Mrs. Lovett heaved the bucket up the steps, spilling a bit of the water. Her teeth were chattering and her arms and legs (she had removed her stockings and shoes) felt frozen. She hoped this revenge wouldn't fail her.

She wondered again why she was being so mischievous, when her foolishness could get her killed.

* * *

Sweeney Todd was pacing, trying to think about Lucy but finding himself unable to do so.

* * *

She was on the balcony now, and preparing herself for the revenge. She knocked on the door.

* * *

He swore as there was a knock at the door. "Come in," he muttered.

* * *

Mrs. Lovett prepared the bucket so that she could splash him as soon as he opened the door. There was no reply to her knock, so she knocked again.

* * *

"Come in!" he yelled upon the second knock. It had better be important.

* * *

Damn. He wasn't going to open the door. She needed to rethink her plan, fast. "I can't!" She called. "My hands are full."

* * *

Of course it was Mrs. Lovett. He didn't want to see her.

Actually, he did want to see her.

Every part of him wanted to see her. He tried to compose himself so that she wouldn't suspect his arousal and get any funny ideas, like that he was…_attracted_ to her, or anything like that.

* * *

She stood waiting, her hands gripping the bucket so tightly that her knuckles were white. Or perhaps they were white from the cold. She wasn't certain.

* * *

He reached for the doorknob, breathing heavily to calm himself down. He opened the door and was greeted with—

* * *

Mrs. Lovett saw the door open and she hurled the water straight into his face. To her surprise, he had dried off since their last encounter and so she had soaked his clean, dry clothes.

When he had recovered from the initial shock, he looked positively livid.

**Uh-oh…run, Mrs. Lovett! RUN!**


	7. Chapter 7

I'd like to thank everyone who bothers to review my stories (I feel like a jerk for never saying that before

**I'd like to thank everyone who bothers to review my stories (I feel like a jerk for never saying that before!). Seriously, when I see the number of reviews, it makes my day. **

**This chapter is long, because it's the conclusion. And it's actually more serious than the other chapters. Sort of. Okay, it's still silly. But it's a little less silly.**

Sweeney Todd stood in his doorway. He blinked madly, trying to get the water out of his eyes. Or perhaps he was blinking because he was completely dumbfounded.

He felt strangely perplexed. Well, not all that strangely. Anyone would be perplexed if their landlady suddenly accosted them with a pail of water. He thought he could understand why she had accosted him with said pail of water—after all, who understood revenge tactics better than Sweeney Todd?—but he couldn't believe that she had the nerve to do so.

Her amount of gall was…surprising. And appealing.

Oh, he was angry—who wouldn't be angry?—but he was still, somehow…excited.

The evening was turning out to be more interesting than he had thought possible.

* * *

Mrs. Lovett had run away from him. She was no fool—when Sweeney Todd was quiet for too long, it made her nervous (not that she wasn't nervous when he did talk). Of course, this meant she was nervous all the time, but she had grown used to it.

He had just blinked at her, not saying anything. But he had looked so angry when she had first thrown the water…

She was wringing her skirts out in front of her shop. People were staring at her. And while Mrs. Lovett did enjoy being the center of attention, she wasn't comfortable because of why they were staring.

They probably thought she was a prostitute (and who could blame them, what with how her clothes looked?).

She tried to ignore the passersby, but it was difficult.

Especially when one touched her.

"Hey, there," a voice said, and she turned, half expecting it to be Sweeney Todd with a razor. But it wasn't—it was a different man. He looked slightly younger than Mrs. Lovett, with reddish hair and freckly skin. He was well dressed.

But despite his appearance—which left him looking somewhat innocent—Mrs. Lovett was a bit nervous in his presence, as his hand was caressing the (wet) small of her back.

"Can I help you? Oh," she added, "please take your hand off of me."

The man's face, so jovial at first, now contorted. He looked positively fiendish. Mrs. Lovett shivered. "Actually," the man said, the smile returning to his face, "I think you could help me."

"With what?" She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to hide herself. His eyes strayed from her face to her bare feet before resting on her arms.

"Something only a woman can help with," he said, and Mrs. Lovett nearly gagged at the phrase.

He reached out for her hand, but she turned away from him. The fiendish look returned to his face. Mrs. Lovett was frightened (this surprised her. After all, she was living with someone who could kill her at any time. But this was different.), for she was no fool. She knew what men were like.

The red haired man reached for her hand again. She turned away from him. As his face contorted with rage and he opened his mouth to say something, to scream at her, an arm snaked around her shoulder, pulling her close to a very, very wet someone.

She looked up to see Sweeney Todd smiling—though his face was so unaccustomed to smiling that he looked like he was in pain—at the red haired man. "D-Darling," he choked, and Mrs. Lovett rolled her eyes. Was this really so difficult for him? "Where have you been? I've been searching all around the house for you…"

The red haired man looked taken aback, though Mrs. Lovett wondered if they actually seemed like a real couple. Mr. Todd sounded as though he was being tortured. She was squished against him so closely that she could smell him clearly. His scent was a mixture of soap and water (if water could be described as having a scent), but underneath that she could still smell HIM—the torture he had faced in Australia. The pain of losing Lucy. The anger. The revenge. He smelled of blood and sweat, and while the smell sounded revolting when she put it that way, it wasn't really. It was intoxicating and lovely.

Mrs. Lovett felt a blush run over her face as she realized how strange they looked—soaking wet, with their arms around each other. Gossip would be starting up in no time at all.

"Play along," he whispered violently but quietly in her ear, interrupting her reverie.

Mrs. Lovett smiled up at him and he looked shocked at how convincing she could be. "Oh, dearest, I was just wringing out my dress when this gentleman asked for my services…" the red haired man paled as Sweeney Todd looked at him with murder in his gaze. Mrs. Lovett tried to divert the situation from getting violent. "You know, we have got to get new faucets, the old ones don't hardly work anymore…"

Todd looked down at her, confused. Then a smile lit his gaze once again. "Too right, dear, too right. Well, perhaps we should go change out of these wet clothes?"

Mrs. Lovett nodded and the two of them stepped lightly inside the pie shop, leaving the red haired man in the street.

* * *

Upon entering the shop, Todd released Mrs. Lovett quickly, as though it hurt to touch her. They refused to look at each other.

Mrs. Lovett was red and flustered. She knew she should say something—a thank you, perhaps. But she also knew that he had probably only come downstairs to berate her for soaking him, so a thank you wasn't' really in order.

She couldn't smell his scent anymore. It stuck to him, never wafting about like women's scents. It was elusive, much like his kindness.

"Mrs. Lovett." He said it suddenly, and she jumped.

"Yes, Mr. T?"

He was very close to her suddenly. He took her by the shoulders and spun her around. She was shocked, thinking he might…well, she didn't know. She could see his body through his wet shirt and she grew even redder_. Oh, not this again,_ she thought.

He looked at her very seriously before knocking his forehead against her own.

"Ow!" She exclaimed. She broke away from him, massaging her head. "Ow, Mr. T! What was that about?"

He looked at her, not really angrily, but as though he found her amusing. "For this," he said, indicating his wet clothes, "and because you were stupid enough to go out looking like that—" he indicated her chest and she blushed even darker "—at night."

Mrs. Lovett covered herself again. He rolled his eyes. "Mrs. Lovett, I'm going upstairs."

She blinked at him. "That's all?" She said incredulously. He looked at her as though she was from a different planet. "Yes, that's all. Why?"

Mrs. Lovett shook her head. She had been expecting more anger, but she wasn't disappointed or anything. Why would she be? After all, he'd put his arm around her and called her "darling"…and though she could still feel a slight pain in her forehead, she wasn't dead!

"You should change out of your wet clothes," she called as he was leaving. He ignored her, as usual, but she didn't really care. After all, she was his "darling"… She was so happy about his touching her that she putzed around, not changing out of her wet clothes.

* * *

Mr. Todd was satisfied. No, he wasn't satisfied completely. He wouldn't be satisfied completely until the Judge was dead. Maybe even that wouldn't satisfy him. But he had touched Mrs. Lovett. He'd put his arm around her, and he'd punished her for soaking him (twice), so he no longer felt the urge to touch her.

And so he was happy.

He was determined to ignore her request that he change out of his wet clothes, though. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing he had listened to her.

* * *

For the next few days, Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium and Sweeney Todd's Tonsorial Parlor were closed temporarily. The word on Fleet Street was that both of the owners had caught rotten colds.

**Ha! I was thinking about Urusei Yatsura when I made Mr. Todd say "darling". That's pretty scary. Thanks again, everyone who reviews!**


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